


Rent a Sitter

by Lov_pb



Series: Animula [4]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Male Friendship, Non-Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 03:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4771583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lov_pb/pseuds/Lov_pb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter continues to convalesce under Neal’s gentle care. When Neal is summoned away, he must find someone to watch the seriously ill man. Who better than Mozzie? Right … right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rent a Sitter

**Author's Note:**

> This is an auxiliary chapter based on Tigeress79’s story, “Animula”:  
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11291157/1/Animula  
> http://tigeress79.livejournal.com/528.html
> 
> Takes place right after Tigeress79's Animula, chapter 29.

“Absolutely not!”

“Come on, Moz. It’s not a big deal.”

“Did you say ‘not a big deal’?” the smaller man stuttered, turning to face his friend. “Did I hear you right? Of course it’s a big deal. You plan to go meet some corporate fat cat to finesse your big con with Cheng.” 

Mozzie paused, intent on getting his point across. “And you want 'me' to stay here and babysit Golden Eyes?”

Neal uttered a heavy sigh, letting his body sink into the sofa. “I didn’t say babysit.”

“Sure sounded like it to me. What am I, Rent-A-Sitter?”

“I already explained. The CFO of Siegel’s called me today; Simmens asked me to drop by this afternoon.” He grinned, blue eyes twinkling. “You know I can’t miss this opportunity. He’s one of our tickets to success. Simmens led his company’s finance function through at least three major acquisitions, and there’s talk of him integrating a fourth – Ariba. It’s been reported that he, personally, caused the resurgence in the company’s stock."

Mozzie fell into a sullen silence, strolling over to Neal’s wine rack, peering at the bottle display.

“We’re talking major assets here.” Neal frowned. “It’s not like Peter’s any danger to you.” He was beginning to wonder if this was a good idea after all. 

Mozzie continued to ignore him.

“You’ve seen Peter; on bad days he hardly has energy to move across the room. Taylor said his condition is fair but he still requires careful observation. Severe sepsis disrupts your immune system, making a person very vulnerable. Moz, I don’t want to worry about him while I’m out.”

Neal’s friend sniffed in disdain.

“What? You expect Peter to attack you while I’m gone?” 

“Neal, that’s exactly what I expect.”

“How would he accomplish that?” Neal asked. “Stare you down? Bore you to death with nonverbal conversation? Right now Peter’s across the hall reading up about chess. One way I found to get him to sit down and rest --- I told him it’d be great to have a chess partner on hand. I don’t think he believed me but it’s occupying his time.”

“Why won’t you tell me what happened the day I dropped by with the defibrillator?” 

“Moz─”

Mozzie raised his hand, brushing aside Neal’s attempt to interrupt. “I saw bruises on your neck. All you said was he had been delirious. I told you when you first brought him here; he’s dangerous. Find someone to pawn him off on,” he insisted, “you’ve been good to him. Now let him go.”

Neal leaned forward. “I won’t do that. I promised Peter he would be safe here.”

“You can never trust them.”

Neal rolled his eyes and said nothing.

“Why don’t you ever listen to my advice?”

“Maybe because it’s so often colored by conspiratorial diatribes and …. improbable dangers─”

“Your words wound me, Mon frère,” replied the little guy. “Peter is trouble. He shook his head and scowled. “Listen to me. This isn’t his home; you own him. He’s a possession, not a friend. You’ve given him no option, Neal. He can’t just walk out the door.” He pointed directly at the younger man. “Don’t you realize your new ‘corporate calling card’ has begun turning you against me?” 

Neal came to his feet.

“We’ve been through this,” he answered. A flicker of anger appeared on Neal’s face. There for a second and then gone. “Peter’s here to stay. Now… will you watch him for me or should I make other arrangements?”

After a long pause Mozzie nodded, conceding defeat. 

“Just call me Home Alone Prevention, Incorporated.”

“Thanks, Moz. I knew I could trust you to take care of him.”

Mozzie grimaced, grabbing one of Neal’s most expensive wines before sitting down.

“I’ve written down the medication Peter requires. The location where I’ll be. Call me if you need me. It should only take me a couple of hours, max.”  
“Fine,” said Mozzie, sitting down. “Where do I warm up the milk?”

Smiling broadly, Neal walked to the closet to change his clothes.  
____________________

Several hours later …

Peter stood facing the outside terrace. Every few minutes he slowly shifted back and forth on his feet, staring at the floor. 

“What are you doing?” Mozzie asked, suspiciously. 

Since Neal had left the apartment, leaving Peter alone with Mozzie, the animula had barely said a word, avoiding eye contact and not looking up. The con man knew the injured man must be getting tired. He was holding his shoulders in a raised position, requiring continual effort, obviously stressing the healing lacerations. Mozzie observed Peter’s body language, noticed his shoulders were tight, pulled back, his head lowered. Was the animula feeling threatened? Hmm… it seemed Peter was as reluctant to be in his company as he was to be in his. 

“I asked you a question,” Mozzie declared. His tone decidedly gentler this time.

Peter started slightly, but immediately composed himself. Turning around, an unfocused look in his eyes, he answered emotionlessly.

“I’m standing by the window.”

“I can see that. Why?”

“I’m waiting for instructions,” answered Peter, adding after a pause, the “Master Haversham.”

“Well… come sit down and rest. Neal told me not to put any undue stress on you.”

“I prefer not to sit in your presence,” Peter said. “Since you don’t want me across the hall and it’s obvious you’re not comfortable with me, this seemed the best solution.”

“I prefer you sit down before you fall down. You’re too big for me to pick up,” added Mozzie, pointing to the chair directly across from him. 

Peter made his way carefully across the room as the little man continued speaking.

“And let’s get one thing straight. I may be height-challenged but I’m an accomplished Aikido black belt. So don’t even think of trying anything.” 

Mozzie briefly demonstrated a twisting, seated defensive move, vocal grunts included. Peter stopped short, staring in disbelief. 

Quietly muttering, “I’m left with a Jackie Chan lunatic,” the ill man carefully edged closer to his own chair, eyes fixed on the faux Japanese Sensei. 

“Aha. I see I’ve gotten you attention,” Mozzie exclaimed.

“Yes, Master Haversham, you have.” 

Attempting to hide his physical weakness, Peter gently lowered himself down onto the chair, leaning back with his hands supporting his weight. It seemed he didn’t want to get comfortable or wanted to be able to escape quickly. His intense golden gaze never lost focus on the short man, directly in front of him.

“May I have permission to speak?” 

Mozzie felt a small twist in his gut as he noted Peter’s unnatural pallor, guarded expression and ineffable sadness present in his eyes. 

“You ah … don’t need to ask permission. And,” the little guy added, “I go by Mozzie. Let’s just dispense with honorific titles for now.”

Peter nodded solemnly, an indefinable emotion flickering in his eyes. “You’ve achieved Shodan?” 

Mozzie stiffened as Peter quoted Sawaki Kodo, “To gain is suffering; loss is enlightenment.”

“For every gain to occur there must be a sacrifice,” answered Mozzie, quote master-extraordinaire. “You’ve studied Wu Shen Pai?”

“I’m familiar with the writings,” Peter answered, his gaze suddenly dropping to the floor. “But there’s no need for worry; I would never have been allowed instruction in martial arts. Haven’t you heard? We’re a very passive species.” 

Mozzie wasn’t sure if Peter was mocking him or trying to appease him. He suspected the former. With curiosity piqued, he decided it was now time to get to know this man better. For Neal’s protection only, he told himself.

“The literature about Animula asserts you are passive. I know that to be false.”

“This comes from experience?” asked Peter, doubtfully. He directed the golden eyes, loathed by society, directly at him. 

Meeting Peter’s gaze head on, Mozzie only nodded in affirmative. 

Peter’s mouth twisted into a wry smile that never reached his eyes. “For whatever it’s worth, you have no cause to fear me.” 

“Harrumph. I’ll take that under advisement.” There were nagging questions floating around in his head, but Mozzie put them aside for the time being. “Neal tells me you’ve been reading up on chess the last few days. Since I obviously have time at my disposal, we can play a game or two. I suppose I can be persuaded to provide some instruction in this fine art.”

Suddenly Peter felt very tired. This was dangerous ground. Was he expected to intentionally lose or play with skill? Once again he found himself walking a tightrope. Expelling his breath, he nodded uncommittedly.

Mozzie quickly topped up his wine glass. “I’ll go get Neal’s board. Don’t worry, I’ll take it easy on you.” 

Scurrying off, he returned with the game pieces and the medical paraphernalia necessary for Peter’s next round of IV antibiotics. Placing them on the coffee table in front of them, he asked, “Before we start do you need anything?”

“No,” replied Peter. Pointing to the syringe, he shifted nervously, curling his hand into a fist and pulling it closer to his body. “I’m sure the medicine can wait until later.”

“Neal told me you’d be scheduled for another dose of antibiotics at three o’clock.” Mozzie motioned for Peter’s hand. “I know how to do this. Come on, I need to lock the syringe into the port.”

There was no movement; Peter’s hand remained locked next to his knee. Both men exchanged glances. 

Mozzie refused to budge, watching for the smallest sign of acquiescence. After several moments, when Peter edged his hand slightly forward, Neal’s friend heaved an inner sigh of relief. Taking pains to gently administer the medicine, Mozzie began to feel self-conscious under the jumpy man’s watchful gaze. It was painfully obvious how uncomfortable his physical touch was to Peter. He began to see the man in a new light. 

Mozzie decided a bit of levity might work. “I didn’t make the chess team in school, you know,” he said, avoiding eye contact and settling back in his seat. “I couldn’t make the height requirement.”

A second of silence was followed by a cough or voluntary throat clearing from Peter’s vicinity.

“Do you need any water?” Mozzie asked solicitously. The other man shook his head. 

“Good. Now we can start the chess game.”

Peter closed his eyes for a moment, carefully considering his next words. “You do realize chess can be likened to a mathematical problem. Animula are known for their scientific, eidetic and mathematical abilities. It’s theoretically possible to grasp every element of the game through logic and numerical reasoning.”

“And your point is?” asked Mozzie. 

“A chess problem is simply an exercise in pure mathematics,” replied Peter truthfully.

Mozzie snorted. “Okay, Bobby Fisher. Let’s see the proof.”

Peter decided not to inform Neal’s annoying and dangerous friend that he had been practicing, using Neal’s computer as a chess training partner, for the last few days. The man would either ignore the news or scoff with derision. 

Mozzie won the first game. The second ended in a stalemate. Both men reached an impasse and agreed to another game. The smaller man continued to enjoy Neal’s delectable wine selection, finding enjoyment sparring with his quiet companion. Mozzie reminded himself to stay alert, surprised to discover Peter possessed a keen mind, sharp wit and seeming inexhaustible supply of quotes to trade off. It seemed highly probable his opponent would win the final game.

“You know, Peter, ‘excellence at chess is one mark of a scheming mind,’” baited Mozzie. 

Peter was quick with a Bobby Fischer retort, “‘I don’t believe in psychology. I believe in good moves.’”

By the time the last game neared conclusion Mozzie noted Peter’s moves quickly becoming sloppy and rushed. About to knock one of his opponent’s pieces off the board with glee, he looked up and saw Peter leaning to the side, sagging in the chair, hands trembling with fatigue. Oh brother! Neal was going to kill him. He hadn’t meant to get carried away. Tendrils of guilt began to coil around him.

“That’s it for today,” declared Mozzie. “I don’t want to lose and we can reschedule when I’m fresh.” As Peter looked up startled, the small man’s voice became gruff. “No arguments; I insist on an adjournment.” 

“As you wish, Master Haversham.”

“Just Mozzie,” he replied. “You reached chess equality.”

The smallest hint of a smile crossed his opponent’s weary face.


End file.
